Waking Dream
by Woooooosh
Summary: She's haunted his dreams since he was nine years old. She was going to leave him one day, for a fantastic chance to live out her own dreams. But can he find a way to make them work?
1. Chapter 1

When he had leaped out of the ambulance, his mind had only been on the patient. That was one of his better qualities: he had an iron will concentration. Very few things could refocus his attention when it was already centered on something else. Both a blessing and a curse, it was what made him a good soldier, and an even better surgeon.

She was there from the moment the doors opened, yet his brain didn't realize that she was there.

Somehow, though, his soul knew.

As soon as the patient was stable, his head turned to the side, and she was there. There, with her head of dark, flowing curls, with her expressive eyes, and her delicate hands. She had walked right up to them, trying to catch a word with the Chief of Surgery. He did a double take, his eyes almost not believing she was here.

"Sir, Dr. Hahn is working on multiple crush injuries, she wants you to take a look." Her voice was like music to his ears. He had heard it countless times before, but never in person.

"Mhmm, I'm on my way," the chief responded, before looking down and noticing the gash in his leg.

"You're bleeding," the man stated. Owen wanted to keep his eyes on her, but he couldn't give away his secret.

"Oh, my car was right behind theirs at the intersection," Owen spread the hole in his pants to demonstrate the wound. "I cut it on impact."

"And you triaged these men?" The chief's hands rested on his hips in thought. Owen felt the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly, watching her face morph from confused to stunned.

"Major Owen Hunt," he started, his status coming out like a rote. "U.S. Army, second forward surgical." He allowed a small glance at her mouth parted open in interest before explaining in simpler terms: "I'm a trauma surgeon. I just got home on leave." The Chief nodded his head in approval.

"Dr. Yang, take care of Major Hunt's leg."

"Uh, sir," she protested, "I'm scrubbing in with you?"

"After you take care of Major Hunt," the Chief said again, this time giving her a look before walking away.

She stood there for a minute, her lower lip pouting just a millimeter. She didn't know it, but he loved that about her.

Owen watched as her eyebrows knitted together before turning to him. He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace, his gut twisting in his abdomen.

"So, you know my name, but I didn't manage to get yours," he said, trying to fill the silence. He could feel his palms sweating.

Owen already knew her name, but it was too tempting. He wanted it; craved it. She looked at him in askance, before ushering him down the hall.

He needed to get this right.

"Let's just get you sewed up," she said, shaking her head. Owen laughed a little, watching her grin to herself. He took a deep breath, and instead of entering the exam room, started off in another direction.

"Wait, what? Where are you going?!" He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that she was following him.

"To check on my other patients."

"No, no: YOU are the patient!"

He stopped walking, pivoting on his heel.

"Look, just let me check on the other patients," he tried to convince her. "You guys here seem like you could use an extra body, and mine is free at the moment – I promise you'll get some blood on your hands once I've made sure that everyone is alright."

Owen could see that while she was reluctant to say yes, she didn't want to leave the action yet either.

"Please?" What was wrong with him? He never said please. At least not to people he barely knew. Barely ten minutes in her presence and she already had him wrapped around her finger. Her eyes slid across to the corner of the room before replying.

"Fine," she said. "JUST to check on the others."

"Great!" He felt like his face was going to break in half from all the smiling he'd be doing tonight.

She shook her head, brushing past him, leading the way back to the pit. He caught a whiff of her light, citrus scent as she passed by.

It was better than anything in he'd imagined.

* * *

 _The first time Owen saw her, he was nine years old._

 _One minute, he was in the warmth of his bed, about to fall asleep, the next he was standing in an office with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life._

 _She stood there, behind a large, slightly cluttered desk, her arms propping her up against the edge. She wore a pristine white lab coat over a light blue, patterned dress. Dark curls were twisted up in an asymmetrical style on her head, and her lips were painted a deep shade of red that captivated Owen's attention. Her body was facing a large, floor to ceiling window overlooking a series of bright, tall buildings. Snowy mountains sparkled in the distance._

 _Slowly, taking it all in, she turned and sat down in her office chair, a lopsided smirk gracing her lips. As she was about to organize her things, however, a knock sounded on the door._

" _Yes?" The woman shot up, ramrod straight, as soon as the other person started to enter. A young man in blue opened the door with an eager look on his face._

" _Dr. Yang, they're ready for you."_

 _A brilliant smile – one of true joy – broke the tension on her face, and it took Owen's breath away._

" _Let's do it." She followed the man out of the office, and Owen felt himself following her past the doorway._

 _The last thing he saw before he woke up in his bed again were the words printed on the outside of her office:_

 _Dr. Cristina Yang, Director of Cardiothoracic Surgery._


	2. Chapter 2

"Who the hell are you?" Cristina took that time to helpfully pitch in:

"Army Surgeon Badass did something crazy with a pen on a guy's throat."

"Well I would appreciate it if you didn't give my patient and his wife false hope," Derek said.

"Until you've exhausted all the options, it's not false, it's just hope," Owen snapped. "Maybe you should keep current on your research." He could feel Cristina's admiring eyes on him during the exchange, and it took most of his concentration not to look at her.

"They did, uh, make a football player walk, at Buffalo Gen," Callie added, "using therapeutic hypothermia."

"Buffalo Gen's patient was twenty years old in prime cardiac fitness," Shepherd retorted. "My patient is in his sixties and is a very risky candidate. I'd prefer he live to see his grandchildren."

"Dr. Torres, book an OR and please tell this patient that this procedure is not an option," Derek spat, "despite UNCLE SAM'S assessment."

An awkward silence fell on the three remaining doctors, before Cristina practically skipped over to his side again.

"Let's go close up your wound now."

Ushering him into a private room down the hall. As she gathered all the supplies she would need, Owen went ahead and took off his tattered camouflage pants.

Now that they were in private, he didn't even try to stop staring at her. Watching her work was one of his favorite things in his dreams, but his senses were dulled when he was asleep; he didn't feel anything in his dreams.

In the present, he would be able to experience all of her. The sound of her voice when she laughed, the smell of her shampoo, the feel of her hands on his skin. He could feel his face start to heat up, and he prayed to God that it didn't spread to other parts of his body, too.

Owen wasn't embarrassed that the first time Cristina saw him in his underwear, it would be to close a wound.

He _would_ be embarrassed, though, if the first time that she touches his skin, he got a raging boner.

To her credit, Cristina didn't say a word when she turned around and saw him just in his blood-stained boxer-briefs, although there was a slight smirk on her face. That was another thing he admired about her, she was a consummate professional.

He noticed the staple gun sitting on a tray next to her.

Just what he needed to get out quickly.

"Okay," she muttered to herself, after adding the betadine solution. In one swift move, right before she started on the stitches, he grabbed the gun and began stapling himself shut.

"Uh, what are you doing?!" Cristina's shocked voice cut through his grunts of pain.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked.

"You're not even numbed!" He stopped momentarily to look her in the eyes before continuing up his thigh.

"So?" Owen tried not to stare at her open mouthed, wide eyed, beautiful face. When he couldn't reach the ones on top, he handed the instrument to her. "Could you give me a hand with these? Can't seem to get an angle on them."

"Okay." Shaking her head in disbelief, she took the staple gun from his hands before crouching down and picking up where he left off.

He grunted after the first staple, and she looked up at him for reassurance. He raised his eyebrow at her, signaling for her to continue. Owen was acutely aware of her small hands getting closer to his ass.

"Thank you," he groaned once she had finished. She stood up to her natural height, a slight smile on her face.

"Don't mention it."

Her dark brown eyes made contact with his, and Owen felt his heart leap into his throat. They stood, only a few inches away from each other, allowing him an up-close look. Her smooth skin was just begging to be touched. His body leaned in towards her. His attention yet again on her lips, slightly turned up at the corners.

They were so close. If he moved forward just a little bit-

"Hey, can I ask you something?" She startled away from him, and Owen cursed Callie's timing.

"Uh, wh-what?" Cristina asked. Owen kept his eyes on her, but at least he knew she wasn't wholly unaffected by his presence.

"Him, actually," Callie gestured to Owen. Cristina blinked, as if just coming out of a stupor.

"Oh, yeah ok," she took off her gloves and disposed them in the biohazard bin. She addressed him over her shoulder: "Make sure to follow up on those later." Owen's eyes followed her out the room.

It wasn't until she was gone that he noticed Callie giving him a look.

"Was I interrupting something?" she asked. Owen could feel his face turning red.

"Ah-heh, no," he coughed in embarrassment, "No. What can I help you with?"

She squinted, not quite believing him, but she let it go.

"Talk to me about the freezing thing."

* * *

Owen stood leaning against the front counter in the Pit. The other patients were all either stable, or being taken care of already, so he felt at a loss. What was he supposed to do now?

Turning his head, he tried in vain to look for Cristina, but she was nowhere to be found. She must be in the Chief's surgery, he thought.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket: only at fifteen percent, but it hadn't been damaged in the crash. He stepped outside into the brisk Seattle air, and dialed the number to the house. Owen checked his watch. It was only nine in the evening, his mother should still be awake.

"Hello?" she picked up after three rings.

"Hi, Mom."

"Owen, where are you? Wasn't your flight supposed to get in around five?"

"Yeah, I landed just fine. I got into an accident though."

"What? Why didn't you call me earlier, are you alright?" Owen could hear something rustling in the background.

"Yes, I'm fine, just a little banged up." He ran a finger down the stapled wound in his thigh. "The other car was worse off, so I hitched a ride with their ambulance."

"Do you want me to come pick you up?"

"No, no, you don't have to," he reassured her. "It's pretty slippery on the roads right now, and I'd rather not have both of us get into an accident tonight. I'll get a cab when we're done here." He heard the tell-tale beeping of his phone about to shut off.

"My phone is going to die soon," he said. "I just wanted to check in so you know that I'm alright, and you don't have to wait up."

"Alright," his mother sighed. "Stay safe, and take off your shoes before coming inside, I just vacuumed."

"Yes ma'am, I know the drill," he laughed. She hung up on him, and again, Owen was left in the cold, at a loss of what to do. He sat down on a nearby bench, his mind drifting toward the object of his affections again.

He'd had dreams about it, about _her_ , since he was a kid. They didn't come to him every night: only once every couple of months, maybe? It was hard to tell. Sometimes he'd have one right after the other, two or three nights in a row, and sometimes he wouldn't have one for months. After his dad died, he didn't have one for a whole year.

It didn't matter if it was a fifteen minute nap, or if it was the rare chance that he got a full eight hours of sleep: he'd lay down, be whisked away somewhere across time and space, watch a tiny little snippet of her life, and wake up again.

Driving home from the airport, he knew, intellectually that she would be here, doing her residency, but he never realized that he'd be meeting her today. There were other hospitals closer to the site of the crash than Seattle Grace. There was Mercy West, Seattle Pres.

None of them had Cristina, though.

Maybe if he didn't have the dreams, he wouldn't believe in destiny the way he did now. But he'd been having them since he was nine years old, so at this point, he was in too deep for it to be coincidence. So now that Owen was here, he was left with an important question that needed to be answered.

What was he going to do?


	3. Chapter 3

" _Dad, do you ever have dreams?"_

" _Of course, I do." The man sat there in silence, waiting for his son to elaborate._

" _About girls," Owen muttered. His dad dropped the newspaper, his ginger eyebrows threatening to get lost in his hairline._

" _Ah, well, son," Gregory Hunt cleared his throat, "When I was your age, I was mostly dreaming about dinosaurs." He backtracked a bit once he saw the dismay on his son's face. "Oh, but – uh – I did dream about girls once I grew a little older. Is there any girl in particular?"_

 _Owen felt the tips of his ears start to grow warm; this was humiliating, he thought._

" _Yeah," his voice croaked a bit. "Yeah, there's a girl." She wasn't a girl, she was a woman, but his dad didn't need to know that._

" _Are they…good dreams?" He wasn't sure how to answer that._

" _Yes? Yeah, I guess they're good dreams," he said, his cheeks flushing a brilliant red._

 _His dad coughed again into his hand. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Owen. Dreams always pass in time, and they get easier to manage once you get older." His dad's reassurances didn't ease the feeling the back of his mind._

" _Hey, if you're already thinking about girls, you're a step ahead of your old man." Gregory smiled and rose to leave. Owen dropped his head on the table. He and his dad were talking about two completely different things._

" _My son's an early bloomer," his father laughed as he left the kitchen. Owen let his head rest on the counter, and his arms dangle from his sides._

 _Who knows, maybe his dad was right. The dreams weren't bad, mostly just little tidbits of her day, and maybe it was normal for kids his age to dream about fully grown women they've never met before. Maybe the dreams would go away._

 _That night, he dreamt she was on a plane._

 _When he woke up, Owen couldn't remember what had happened, and tears were streaking down his face._

* * *

"Oh my god, SHUT UP Meredith!" The sound of her voice cut through his stupor. He turned to see Cristina and Meredith having a heated conversation in front of the hospital.

"Cristina-"

"Shut up about Derek! Shut up about moving in with Derek, shut up about dead Derek! I can't TAKE it anymore!" A light laugh escaped from Owen's throat as he realized what was going to come next. Of course, this next part could only happen to her.

"Cristina-"

"No!"

"Cris-"

"NO!" He couldn't see their faces from his position on the bench, but he could see Cristina waving her hands in the air in frustration. Meredith tried to speak again, but she was not having it.

"No, that's it, I'm done-" She walked away, lightly shoving her way past Meredith.

And just as Owen predicted, she slipped on the ice below her, sliding all the way down onto her back. Part of him laughed a little, but that didn't stop the concern that was growing. He'd seen this before, but a small part of him still worried over her safety anyway, even though he knew she would be alright.

"Not gonna say you deserved that," Meredith smirked, "but you deserved that."

"Ha. Yeah, okay, just help me up, please-"

 _Crack!_

Owen needed to turn his head away for this part: the part where she got stabbed in the lower abdomen with an icicle. He recognized that she would be ok, the icicle missed her vitals. Meredith ran inside, presumably to get help, leaving Cristina gasping on the cold hard ground – which, in retrospect, probably wasn't the best idea, but that was his cue to come in.

He stood from his spot on the bench and jogged over to her.

"Damsel in distress." Owen smiled, noting that her eyes and lips were open in surprise. It was almost cute.

Gently, he leaned down and scooped her small frame up into his arms, bridal style, and carried her back into the ER wing of the hospital, ignoring the stares from all the other staff. One of her hands found its way around his neck, looking for support. It set fire to his skin.

After only seeing her distantly in his dreams for so long, it was a struggle for him to be this close to her now, and not just examine every little detail of her face.

Meredith ran into him on the way back, ushering him into one of the exam rooms. Various interns and nurses bustled about, prepping the machines and instruments. Owen set her on the bed, careful not to move the icicle.

"Put her on a monitor," Meredith ordered. "Get her a portable chest. Cristina, I'm going to cut your top off."

"It's between my ninth and tenth intercostal spaces," he stifled a small grin, watching her arch her back in protest. "My vitals are stable, just pull it out."

"I wouldn't," Owen interjected, slipping back into work mode.

"Mind your own business!" she snapped.

"Who is this guy?" He lifted his hands, which had already started checking the wound, off her in a placating gesture. Owen wouldn't be earning any brownie points by making her more upset. He absentmindedly began gathering the other supplies they needed to sterilize the area as she and Meredith spoke.

"I can't mess up again, Mer," Cristina pleaded. "No one can see me like this."

Lo and behold, of course the Chief decided that was the most opportune time to check in on his residents.

"What the hell happened!" It came out less as a question, than a yell. Owen thought, in hind sight, it was kind of funny: of course, on the one day that Cristina didn't want the Chief to come in and see her, he would come in.

He dutifully worked on her as she argued with Meredith, Webber, everyone, about taking the icicle out. Once she was finally cut out of her scrubs, and she had finally seemed to settle down in defeat, the Chief pulled him aside to speak to him. Owen went reluctantly, not wanting to leave Cristina, but she was in good hands.

"Look, I know that you've just got back on leave," he started, "and that you're injured and probably want to go home." He gestured to the gash on Owen's leg. "But between you and me, we could use an extra hand here in the trauma wing tonight.

"I understand, and you're more than welcome to leave, but honestly, we could use all hands on deck."

Owen nodded. "Don't worry, Chief, I already made a call, my family knows that I'll be here for a bit longer." Webber smiled at him, and nodded his head in return, before walking off.

Owen took one last look at Cristina through the blinds, then went to check on the other patients.

* * *

"Just get out! And find me someone with a brain!" Owen moved aside in the doorway for the others to leave the room.

"Are those your interns? They seem pretty scared of you."

"I'm not scary!" Cristina's head whipped toward him. Well, as much as it could whip, anyways, trying not to disturb the icicle. His brain fizzled out, not knowing what to do when her fierce eyes made contact with his.

"Yeah, right," was all he could manage. He glanced at her films, knowing, yet still needing to check, that it wasn't hitting any vital organs.

"What are you doing?" her voice was much closer than it was before, and Owen for his part, didn't realize that he had leaned into her personal space, too busy reveling in her presence.

He leaned a tiny bit closer, just to breathe in her scent, before ripping the spike from her abdomen.

She gasped, her hand coming down to rest on his shoulder for support.

"That's my icicle," she strained. He nodded at her, trying to keep her concentration on his face, and not on him cleaning the wound.

"You pulled out my icicle," Cristina looked at the sharp, cold object in his hand. He nodded again.

"I didn't give you permission to do that." Every sentence she had spoken thus far was spoken in a rush of air from her lungs, and it shot butterflies through his stomach.

"So?"

He held the patch of gauze to the hole in her side, when Meredith burst into the room. She didn't need to say a word, for Cristina to understand. Her patient was dead.

Meredith didn't have time to tell her before she had to leave the room again, called onto her own case. The two of them were left in silence, Owen suturing Cristina's wound in silence.

He tried not to be distracted by the smooth expanse of skin that was exposed to him, or the tiny mole she had under her right-side ribcage. It helped, that she had a wound for him to focus on. It kept him in work mode.

Mostly.

"Tell me about trauma surgery," she said, breaking the silence.

"Trauma? Quick and dirty. No time to make things pretty, and no time for mistakes." He cut off the excess thread from her stitches. "Drop your pants, you need a shot of Cefazolin IM."

"What, you don't make mistakes?" She grimaced.

"I make mistakes, people die." She paused, her body already turned in the other direction, before speaking again.

"I'm the best surgical resident in my program, and I killed a man today, because I couldn't do a stitch." He tried to convey as much empathy as he could into his expression.

She was still in her residency; she still had a lot to learn. So, on some level, he felt a sort of pity for her, as well. She didn't even know yet, the kind of mistakes she would make in the future.

Owen himself knew there were still things – mistakes he had made – that he was still trying to learn from. There were going to be mistakes in the future, as well. His dreams were a gateway into her future, but he couldn't see everything. He hadn't yet seen everything. Just enough to know what direction she was going in.

Cristina couldn't even fathom what kind of mistakes she'd be learning from, yet.

He settled on giving her the best advice he could give.

"In the field, you do what you can, you work with what you have," he began, disposing of the nitrile gloves. "It's about something. It's not about being the best. It's about saving lives."

He turned, leaning over the bedrail. His eyes were locked onto hers. In the few short hours that he had known her (in real life), she had never looked so vulnerable. Nor as beautiful. He wanted to stop talking and just bring her closer to him, but now was not the time. She didn't know him yet. He needed to let her get to know him. It was important, when he uttered these words, that he be as close to her, to get the message across.

"I make mistakes. Guys die by my hand – good guys." He glanced at her wound, double checking the sutures.

Even though he told her before that he had no time to make things pretty, he took as much care as possible when dressing _this_ wound.

"I don't know everything, nobody does. I make mistakes, and I learn. And the next time, I don't make that mistake again. So the next time, the next guy, that guy, he lives." He had her full attention, now. He saw her eyes glisten a little, getting slightly moist. "Mistakes are how you learn."

She didn't say anything, instead turning back on her side and taking her hand from where it was propped above her, sliding it under her cheek.

He knew she needed some time, therefore he excused himself to check on the other patients, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

* * *

 _The desert heat burned the back of his pale neck. The sun blazed down in a clear sky, no clouds in sight to give the soldiers any relief. But even with the unrelenting rays beating down on them, the camp was mostly silent. All of them understood what that meant as well: that they needed to appreciate their down time while they still could._

 _Owen sat on a pile of sandbags, overlooking the dunes just outside of camp. Footsteps came closer to his resting place, the gravel scrunching under a pair of boots._

" _You look like shit." He looked up, the pair of regulation pants leading up to a familiar face._

" _Hey." The other man sat down next to him. Owen didn't bother to look at him until his fellow soldier handed him a water canteen._

" _What a welcome," he laughed. "It's a wonder you get all the ladies with that ugly mug of yours."_

 _That got a laugh out of him. "Shut up, Travis."_

 _Travis gave him a light shove. "What've you got going on in that empty head?" Owen didn't answer right away, but then again, he didn't need to._

" _Just the same old stuff." Travis leaned over to squint in his face._

" _You're thinking about Cristina again?"_

" _Yeah." He shifted uncomfortably, the sandbags surprisingly stiff under his rump. His friend settled back in his own space, heaving a heavy sigh._

" _Did you have a dream last night?" He nodded. "What was it about?"_

" _I don't know," he admitted. "I saw myself in the operating room, working on a patient. Then I heard someone knocking on the window of the gallery." Owen took a deep breath to center himself. "It was her. She was in regular clothes, beautiful as ever. And, well, she waved at me. I stood there with the patient coding, unable to move. We stared at each other for a while, and when I had to pay attention to the guy on the table, she left._

" _The other me looked back at the galley, and she was gone." Travis kept his face neutral, waiting for Owen to explain more._

" _I don't get it," Owen dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know when this is supposed to happen, I looked older? We both did, but Cristina was still so, so – ugh, I can't describe her. Honestly, I think the first time I saw her, in the office, really takes the cake, like none of the other dreams ever compared to the way she looked then! This time, she was still beautiful, but she had this like half-smile, on her face, you know the kind that's like you're looking at a kid that's crying, or like if a friend starts crying at the happy ending of a movie? Like that. It was a pity smile._

" _But, Travis, if you saw, what I looked like in that OR, you'd get it. I was devastated – other me was devastated. I didn't get it, because I don't have any context into the situation, but I'd never seen myself look so heartbroken before." His friend remained silent, throughout his whole rant, listening with a rapt ear._

" _Did you hear yourself, just now?" Travis asked. "You've got it bad."_

" _Well, yeah," Owen lifted his head. "She's the woman of my dreams, literally!"_

" _I get it. This gorgeous woman shows up in your dreams every night, you see someone who looks like you tapping that-"_

" _I've never seen us-"_

" _Yes, you have, don't lie to me." Travis interrupted. "You're right, she's the woman of your dreams, and dreams can seem better than anything in real life, but how do you know?"_

" _What?" Owen's mouth fell a little open at the change in subject._

" _How do you know that she's the one?" Owen's voice started to raise, but Travis kept his own equal._

" _What do you mean, of course she's the one!"_

" _Owen, you barely even know her!" Owen shut his jaw. Travis wasn't the type of guy to get riled up often. After a minute, he tried again._

" _I see her every night-"_

" _But do you really know her?" His friend's tone turned back to it's normal, soothing level, but his eyes still had an urgent quality to them. "You say that you've had dreams since you were a kid, but you just told me that you don't know why you looked so sad in the last one."_

" _Yeah," he agreed, "but that's because I was stuck right in the middle of what was going on-"_

" _Well, you if you don't know the reason behind why you looked devastated, that means you don't know what's going on in her life! That had to have been a big thing – a HUGE thing – to make 'other you'," Travis set up air quotes for his point, and if Owen wasn't trying so hard to understand, then he might've been annoyed, he hated air quotes, "look so upset. How can you say you know her, if you don't know what her life is about?"_

 _Owen tried to respond, but Travis cut him off, again._

" _Who's to say that you didn't miss other things as well? You don't know every little thing that she does, it would take you years to see every little piece of her life, even if it was made so that all the important parts were cut out and summarized onto little flashcards for you to study off of!"_

 _They were silent, after Travis finished. The two soldiers looked to the distance, watching rising pockets of hot air distorting the image of the dunes, the sun just starting to make it's decent across the sky. Owen could hear a few others talking about duties in the back, how they needed to pack up in a few days. They were silent for so long, that the next question caught him off guard._

" _What if she doesn't exist?"_

" _What?"_

" _No, Owen, think about it, for a sec. I'm not doubting your feelings, at least not right now. But what if this girl that you are so in love with, isn't even real?"_

" _She has to be real!" Owen protested. "I've seen where she is. She works at a hospital back in Seattle, she's did her residency there-"_

" _Did, Owen, did. You don't have dreams with enough detail for you to know the date. How do you know she didn't already complete her residency? Her fellowship?_

" _You know that eventually, she ends up working at a place with snowy mountains and pretty little buildings," Travis continued. "But that's not Seattle!"_

" _Seattle has mountains-"_

" _Well of course there are mountains, dumbass," Travis spat. "But an office view like the one you say she has? It can't be in Seattle, there are too many people for that to work. And there aren't any other research facilities in the city, we checked, remember? I helped you check a long time ago."_

" _It might not be built yet."_

" _And it might have already been built! You don't know when she lives, you don't know where. If anything, she could totally just be a figment of your imagination, just an imaginary friend your mind filled into the place you used to live, because you're homesick."_

 _Owen fell silent, again. Travis rested a hand on his shoulder, pulling him in a little closer._

" _Look, I know you think you care for her, this 'Cristina'. But you don't know if she exists." Travis pointed a thumb back at their encampment. "You've already got Altman over there who's head over heels for you. You can't torture yourself with thoughts that you'll have this whole life with the girl of your dreams, if it'll just keep you from living in the here and now."_

 _Owen looked at his companion, his confidant, the best friend he's ever had. As much as he wanted to keep denying what Travis was saying, he had a point. Owen never had any real proof that Cristina Yang existed. What if he was just kidding himself, and the life he had seen wasn't real?_

" _I can't, Travis. You're right, I don't know if she's real or not. But I need to believe she is. Why else would I be having these dreams, years later? What's the point of me having these dreams if she doesn't exist?"_

 _Travis stroked his chin. "I don't know. Maybe you've got a brain tumor or something."_

" _What, I've had a brain tumor since before I hit puberty? Yeah, right. We're doctors, Travis, I think we can rule that out."_

" _Hey, you never know," he said. "Maybe it's just sitting right there in your head, and you'll just explode one day." He motioned with his hands. "Just up and pop, right there while working on someone in the OR." Owen chuckled. "When that happens, I'm not cleaning it up."_

" _Yeah, right."_

" _Seriously, you clean up your own damn grey matter."_

" _What? You owe me." The two fell quiet again, relishing the fact that the two of them hadn't been bothered yet. He knew what Travis was doing: he was distracting him from thinking too much. He clapped Owen on the back in thanks before standing._

" _C'mon, let's head back. I think it's time for us to help pack up camp." Owen picked up the canteen he had placed on the ground._

" _Yeah, let's go."_

 _As usual, they only managed to get a few steps before bickering again._

" _Flash cards? Really?"_

" _What, they worked for us in med school!"_

* * *

Owen wandered back to her exam room. The other patients were all settled in, all that was left was to dress the remainder of Cristina's abdomen.

Now that he'd finally found her, all he wanted to do was spend every waking minute in her presence. But the night was ending, and he still didn't know what to do.

He'd seen bits and pieces of the night, but not the whole thing. Him, in his uniform carrying her into the hospital, her stapling his wound, however he didn't know how the night would end. In his dreams, he worked here, at Seattle Grace. But the way he saw it, he would have needed to quit the army for her, and Owen didn't think he could do that. Cristina was here, she was real, he could spend his life with her, but why did he have to find her now, in the middle of his goddamn tour?

Owen had waited for this night his entire life, how was he just supposed to leave now?

She lay on the table at an angle, one hand supporting her head of wild curls, the other idly tapping a pattern on the hospital gown. Owen swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

"So," he coughed. "How're you feeling?"

"Well, the painkillers kicked in a while ago," she smiled, "and I'm about to be discharged soon, so I get to go home and forget this whooole day." Seeing her doped up on pain meds, he couldn't help but smile back.

"Well, you don't need to forget the whole day," Owen reasoned. "You got to meet me, after all." God where did that come from? Every time he's spoken to her so far, it's like his filter just went out the window. All his plans, just carried away, like dust in the wind. He snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves, pulling up her gown to reveal the sutured wound. He set a small container of antibiotic cream to the side.

"Mm, yeah," she agreed. "Even though I didn't get to take care of my patient, but I got to staple a guy's leg closed. He wasn't even numbed." He laughed a bit at her allusion to his own scar.

"Well, you know, you're not the only one who got to work on an interesting case?" he asked. "I got to pull an icicle out of a woman's chest."

"Oh really? Seems kind of ridiculous to me."

"Well, you know, it doesn't happen to everyone," Owen applied some of the antibiotic solution to the top of the wound. "It's a one in a million kind of thing for it to happen right here in front of this hospital." He paused to look in her sparkling brown eyes. "It's gotta happen to a one in a million kind of girl, too."

When he saw her smile, he felt like his heart was replaced by the sun, lighting up the recesses of his soul. He felt brave, with that smile. So brave in fact, that he just kept talking.

"You know, you'd be good in the field," he started.

"Oh, stop."

"I'm serious," Owen continued. "You've got a nice looking battle scar too, you'd fit right in." She laughed again, and when Owen finished with the dressing, felt like he could do it.

"You should ditch this place. Go for the adventure." With me, he thought, though he didn't say it out loud. She paused, and Owen felt like subconsciously, she got the message. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice told him he was being stupid, she wouldn't leave, but the words tumbled out without thinking, and a part of him hoped she would say yes, anyways.

"What, you're telling me this place gives you a rush? A high?" She broke eye contact with him to look around the exam room for a moment.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Yeah, it does."

He didn't get a chance to reply, when the Chief walked into the room. He immediately moved back, putting distance between him and Cristina, and dropping him out of the fog she put him in. What was he doing? Owen couldn't believe how flirty he was being.

"Dr. Hunt," Chief Webber started, "How's that gash?"

"Oh, Dr. Yang took good care of me," Owen said. "Excellent care."

"I've made a few calls. They speak very highly of you at Maryland Shock Trauma." The Chief raised his eyebrow. "I also heard a story about you constructing an OR table from an exploded Humvee in the middle of the desert?"

"Well, you have to be innovative in the desert," Owen responded.

"You need to be innovative everywhere." The other man nodded. "How would you like a job, Dr. Hunt?"

This was it, the part of the night he didn't want to get to. His heart tore at him, threatening to beat out of his chest. It almost felt like a physical pain, just the thought of leaving her now. Owen couldn't just stay here. He made a commitment, to his fellow soldiers, to his country. He's on leave, but he's in the middle of a tour, it's only temporary. Maybe when this tour was done, he could come back. The job wouldn't be waiting for him, but he needed to come back to Seattle anyways, its where he grew up. His mom was here.

And maybe, when he came back, Cristina would still be here, too.

Now that he'd found her, now that he knew she _existed_ , then he could put his mind at ease. She was alive. She was meant for him. Just like he told Travis, what was the point of the visions, if he couldn't have her? Cristina was the woman of his dreams, his soulmate. With every fiber of his being, Owen wanted to stay, but he also knew that he would follow her anywhere. Even if he came back from his tour, and she wasn't here, Owen would find her again. He needed to.

He spared a small glance at Cristina, before he focused back on the Chief. If he looked at her again, Owen didn't think he'd be able to get the words out of his mouth.

He was a surgeon, though, and one of the things that made him a great one was his focus.

"I appreciate it, but I'm due to go back to the sandpit, and finish my tour." He needed to force himself to say it.

"Well," the Chief sighed. "Good luck to you." With a small handshake, the man left, and once again, it was just the two of them in the room.

Owen turned his back on Cristina, tossing his gloves in the biohazard bin. He heard the rustle of the hospital gown as she sat up from the bed.

When he dreamt of this day, Owen saw she would staple his leg, and that he would take out her icicle. He had planned as much as he could in his head, so that whenever it happened – because he never got a real timeline of events – he would be ready. He had planned to get her to follow him from patient to patient, he had planned to use the staple gun to catch her attention and finish closing him as quick as possible, he had planned to be right outside the hospital doors when the icicle fell, but he hadn't planned what would happen next.

He had told her trauma was about being quick and dirty. He didn't mention that it was also about following your instincts, when the plan went awry. Owen closed the blinds to the exam room, and turned to her.

"What?" she asked, her eyes shining and a look of confusion on her face.

He decided to go with his gut.

Owen closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. His left hand reached to grasp at her hair, his right placing itself on her hip to pull her closer. Their lips met, and he only had one word to describe how the kiss felt:

Glorious.

She was like air in his lungs, as if he hadn't been able to breathe until now. Sparks flew in his lower belly as he felt her lips moving to match his. If he thought that he loved her then, when all he had ever seen of her was when he was asleep, nothing compared to being there with her, right now. Her hands moved to clutch at the back of his uniform, the back of his neck, and he felt bliss. He wanted her. He wanted them to be closer, until the two of them were fused into one.

It was only her small hands pressing against his chest that stopped him from taking her home right then and there.

She looked him in the eyes, and if she hadn't been kissing him back, Owen might have been a little hurt.

"I, ha, I, don't even know you," she protested, weakly. He spoke the only word that came to mind.

"So?"

It sounded like a whisper to him, but he couldn't tell due to his pulse pounding in his ears. He smoothed some of the hair that had become ruffled in the kiss, smiling at her tenderly and admiring her one last time before turning away to open the blinds again. Some of the other staff on the floor bustled around outside, completely unaware that Owen Hunt had just met his soulmate.

If he looked at her, he'd be all over her again, and he'd never leave. Owen took a deep breath to center himself, and without a backwards glance, he walked out of the room.

Later, when he was finally in bed at his mom's house, Owen couldn't stop thinking about the kiss.

Owen was leaving for Iraq again soon, but that didn't matter, because he would find her again.


	4. Chapter 4

Cristina hated waiting. It was one of her flaws, she knew. Her mother had hated it. Her father had just smiled patiently and held her tiny, energetic body still. She watched from the couch, eating cereal, as Callie bustled around the kitchen.

"This sucks. Don't ever get stabbed, Callie," she said, waving her spoon in the air.

"Um, yeah? No one starts the day asking to get stabbed," Callie deadpanned. "How long are you on bed rest again?"

"Just today, I'm back in tomorrow morning, thank god."

"That's not too bad. It's almost like a day off!" Cristina scoffed in response.

"When have you ever known me to take a day off?"

Callie shrugged. "Well, there's some leftover chicken and rice in the fridge if you want it. Try not to do anything else to get yourself hurt again." The other surgeon waved over her shoulder, slamming the door closed with her foot. Seeing that she didn't have any other plans for her – spontaneous – day off, Cristina took her time finishing her breakfast and getting dressed before following her roommate out of the apartment.

The Chief told her to get some rest today, that didn't mean she couldn't go out for a walk, right?

She needed some fresh air. The walls of her apartment, normally a comforting sight on her days off, were making her feel claustrophobic. Cristina locked the door behind her and jogged down the stairs. The crisp morning felt wonderful on her face. She took a right, and for the first time she could ever recall, Cristina walked away from the hospital.

Not even twenty-four hours ago, she was laying on a hospital bed, humiliated and exposed. It'd been so long since she had spent time operating something other than a heart, Cristina reluctantly had to admit that yes, her general surgery knowledge had suffered for it. Cardiothoracic surgery is her calling, she knows it. She won't ever get there, though, if she can't even do a simple stitch.

Speaking of stitches; Cristina's fingers lightly came up to rest on the bandages on her side.

Right when the icicle had fallen from the roof into her body, he came out to "rescue" her. G.I. Joe, or Major Owen Hunt, she supposed. He was hot, there was no denying that, but Cristina was pleasantly surprised to have found that he was smart, too.

Historically, she'd only really dated – and she used that term loosely – men with brains. She lost her virginity to her chemistry TA. For three years, she dated her professor, Dr. Colin Marlowe. Was it really dating though, if all they really did was have sex in his office and go over medical procedures?

Then there was Burke.

A little over a year had passed since _that day._ There were reminders of Burke all over the hospital. The on-call room that they first had sex in. The counter where he brought her coffee. Memories came unbidden to her, every time she walked through the hospital walls. The ORs where she hid his tremor. Hell, she still lived in his apartment. The only reason she didn't go crazy at home was because Callie was there to distract her.

Yesterday was the first time that she had walked through the hospital without thinking about Burke, and Cristina knew that was exactly what she had needed.

She crossed the street, finding her way to a nearby park. It was late on a Saturday morning, so she wasn't the only one enjoying the public space. A couple of people were jogging down a concrete path, and a woman sat by the playground with her children. Cristina tentatively perched herself on a bench next to an elderly man reading the newspaper. Lost in her thoughts, she winced when her phone went off.

"What?"

"Is that how you answer all of your phone calls, or just the ones to your mother?" Cristina rolled her eyes,

"I'm sorry, the number you are trying to reach is not available right now. Please try again later-"

"Cristina, now you listen-"

"Or better yet, don't-"

"It's about your father." That was the only thing that stopped Cristina from hanging up the phone. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Luckily, her mother started speaking instead.

"I found a box of his things in the attic. I'm sure it would do you move good than it would gathering dust with me." In her shock, Cristina didn't notice the small padding of feet as they drew near.

"Okay," was all she managed.

"I haven't looked inside it." Cristina was oddly relieved to hear her say that. "After you came to live with me," she noted that her mother wouldn't say her father was dead, "I had most of his things sold, and packed away the important things in storage. One box must have been left behind."

"I'll be sending it to you in the mail. Are you still at…?" The unspoken _in his apartment_ hung between them, but she heard it all the same.

She cleared her throat, only managing a "yes, thank you" before hanging up the phone. Before the conversation could sink in, Cristina's thoughts were interrupted by a small whine. Her head snapped to the ground in front of her.

A small dog sat on its haunches, looking up at her expectantly. Cristina scanned the area: everybody had left. Even the elderly man who shared the bench with her was now gone.

"Shoo!" she said. She waved her hand, hoping that the dog would take the hint and leave. Instead, it decided to lay down, still pleading with its eyes. "Go away!"

The dog continued to rest on its stomach, waiting. She crossed her legs and leaned back on the bench, scrutinizing it. It had a slightly dirty yellow coat, and small, floppy ears. She stretched forward, noticing the red collar on its neck. After double checking that no one else was around, she brought her hand forward for it to sniff.

"Well, aren't you friendly," she confessed. It started licking her fingers. She wiped them on her pants, trying in vain to remove the sticky feeling.

"Ew." She stood up, but not before giving the pup a pat on the head.

"Well, if you're not going to go, then I will." Cristina groaned. "Great, now I'm talking to a dog."

She got about halfway back to her apartment before noticing that she was being followed.

"No, no! You don't get to follow me!" That didn't seem to stop the animal, though, as it just cocked its head and whined at her. It didn't even come up to her knee, and with its sad eyes, Cristina had to admit to herself that it was cute.

"Where's your owner?" she asked. She bent down and took the dog's collar in her hands, frowning. No tag. The surgeon stood again to leave, but this time was stopped by the puppy pulling on her pant leg.

"Come on, really?" She yanked her leg away, moving this time to cross the street. The canine didn't follow her this time, yipping a frenzy from the sidewalk.

"Oh, what, now you don't want-

The blare of a car horn interrupted her. Time grinded to a halt, the mid-sized sedan driving head on in her direction, the puppy barking away at her from the side.

Cristina grew up hearing the clichés: when you were about to die, your life would flash before your eyes. Like a slideshow of pictures, memories would pass through your mind, in chronological order, earliest memories to most recent, hyper intense in details.

It was different than she imagine it would be.

She didn't see all the little bits and pieces that made up her life, just the ones that impacted her the most. She saw the day she started at Seattle Grace, her and Meredith introducing themselves in the locker room. Her first time assisting in a surgery. The nurse that signed the DNR - she spent the day with, before she died. When she found out she was pregnant, the subsequent miscarriage. Her relationship with Burke. The wedding. The icicle falling into her. The kiss with Major Badass, just to name a few.

Not all of them were big moments either. She saw her Dad, reading to her before bed. The five of them, Meredith, Alex, George, Izzie, and herself, sitting around, having lunch in the halls. Going jogging with Meredith and hating it. Teasing Derek about Meredith. Assisting Bailey on an appy. Listening to a lecture from the Chief.

The memory that stood out the most to her, though, was the day her dad died. Maybe it was the fact that a car was barreling its way toward her. Maybe it was the fact that she had unquestioningly decided that she would be a heart surgeon that day. Maybe it was the fact that no matter how many years passed, no matter how many surgeries she performed, she still couldn't forget the feeling of her _appa's_ heart stopping under her fingertips.

Cristina didn't have time to scream. She didn't have time to move. All she could do was stare wide-eyed at what would be her death. Tires squealed, and she smelt burnt rubber. The car veered toward the side, but she could see that it wouldn't be able to avoid her completely.

She felt the sudden pull of something on the back collar of her jacket. Thrown off balance, she stumbled backwards, taking just enough steps out of the way of the vehicle. Cristina felt the disrupted wind pass over her body, giving her just enough of a push to tip her over. Her head cracked against the asphalt.

The last thing she knew was the dog barking while her vision faded to black.

* * *

"What's got you so happy this early in the morning?" Evelyn Hunt, always straight to the point, peered over the top of her coffee mug as the two of them ate breakfast. Owen grinned, slicing his pancakes into little triangles.

"Can't I just be happy to be at home?" She nodded.

"Well, I have a son who just got home from his tour," she explained, "and I'm thrilled that you're here. But you've got an extra pep in your step this morning." He tried laughing it off, but she wasn't buying it. Eventually, after enough stumbling and a flat look from her, he caved.

"Ha, well," Owen started, "I met someone." His mother looked for all the world like the cat who caught the canary.

"I knew it. It's written all over your face." The smile faded, after a moment though. "You didn't meet her in the military?" He shook his head.

"No, no I didn't." She sighed in relief.

"Oh, good. I'd hate for you to meet someone and have them be on the other side of the country or something."

He smiled. "Yeah, I actually met her at the hospital, last night." His mom laughed.

"Of course, you did. You always did work quick, Owen. Just like your father that way." Owen decided not to mention that he had been planning to meet her for over twenty years.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged. "I haven't, ah, worked out all the details with her yet. It's still a new thing, we're testing out the waters." More like there _are_ no details, he thought.

"Well of course, son. She hardly knows you. Meeting at the hospital doesn't count as a date," Evelyn snorted. Owen had to agree, there.

"I'm working on it."

In reality, he hadn't thought of what he was going to do next. He had told Chief Webber that he was going to finish his tour in Iraq, and honestly, he almost didn't want to go, now that he knew she was here. He had to finish out his time, though. He couldn't just leave his platoon, he had made a commitment not leave Travis and Teddy and Captain Dan and the others out there to dry.

Owen had seen the future though, he knew that he would end up working at Seattle Grace anyways. He just had to hope that the offer would still stand when he came back.

"Well, you've got a few days of leave," his mom stated. "Maybe you could take her to dinner before you head back."

"You know, Travis said the same thing."

"Oh! How is that boy? He missed Thanksgiving last year. He better make it back for dinner this time."

"Yeah, he and I are stationed in different places this tour, but I'm sure he'll make it home by then," Owen speculated. His mom continued to stare at him, waiting for him to say more.

"Uh, he's doing good. Yeah, he's doing good, but he was a little grumpy the last time I spoke to him," he coughed.

* * *

" _Travis!" Owen held the phone up to his ear._

 _His friend groaned into the receiver._

" _Dude, it's four in the morning-"_

" _You were wrong!" The words started pouring out of his mouth. "I met her! Oh god, I kissed her! Jesus Christ, Travis I kissed her and she let me! No, she kissed me back! I pulled an icicle out of her chest and she stapled my leg and she kissed me back-"_

" _Owen," Travis growled. "You called me to rant about another vision you had? Can't you at least wait until the sun is up before you tell me more about your dream girl?"_

" _No, Travis, I met her!" Owen exclaimed. He heard some rustling in the background._

" _Wait, what? Hold on-" more rustling, and a flushing noise later his friend was back. The sink ran in the background as Owen presumed his friend was washing his hands._

" _Alright, go."_

" _You were wrong," Owen repeated. "I actually met her in person. I was right, she works at Seattle Grace, she's a third year resident RIGHT NOW. And she's beautiful, and she's brilliant, and everything I thought she would be!"_

" _Wow. I didn't expect that call tonight. And our first night on leave, too."  
_

" _I know, right?" He shivered a bit in the cold, waiting on the taxi to arrive._

" _So, what are you going to do? You only have like a few days before being sent back."_

" _Yeah," he agreed. "I've still got another year of active duty. I know she's here now, though. So maybe I can exchange numbers with her or something? Get her email?"_

 _There was a pause on the line before Owen's friend spoke again._

" _Do you know if you can do that?" Owen's forehead creased in confusion._

" _What do you mean?" Another pause._

" _It's nothing, just something I've been thinking for a while."_

" _What is it?" he asked._

" _Look, forget it. Just go home, man. We'll talk more tomorrow, alright?" Owen was about to protest more, but he saw the yellow car pull up to the driveway and decided to let it slide._

" _Ok, fine. My cab is here anyways. I wouldn't want to keep you from your beauty sleep."_

" _Screw you, asshole!"_

 _Owen chuckled to himself while slipping into the back of the cab, putting the last part of their conversation out of his mind._

* * *

"Yeah, Mom, Travis is good." Owen took their plates to the sink to wash.

"Maybe for the holidays you'd be able to bring them both over then," Evelyn suggested.

"Really?" Owen asked, shocked. "You don't even know her and you want her to come over?"

His mom nodded. "I trust your judgement, son. You've never brought a girl over before, so you must really want this one to work." Owen smiled enigmatically, again holding back from revealing his secrets.

"Yeah, yeah I do."


	5. Chapter 5

Owen felt like an idiot. He'd been standing outside the front of the hospital for the past twenty minutes, yet he still couldn't bring himself to walk through the doors.

He started pacing in front again. Seattle Grace was a place he knew would contain some of the most important moments of his life, he knew, but he was afraid. Yeah, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit proud of how he handled meeting her last night. He didn't have time to overthink himself. Now, after a full night of obsessing and in the harsh light of day, he was much more nervous.

Just go, he thought. Cristina is in there. You might not see her, if she's in surgery, but you won't know until you try. The voice sounded remarkably like Travis. A different one stopped him from heading in, though.

"Major Hunt?" He froze mid step, pivoting on his heel to find someone he didn't expect to see this morning.

"Doctor Shepherd," he greeted. The other man's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I'm surprised you caught my name," Derek said, "in the middle of all the hustle and bustle of stealing my patient last night." Owen let out a sheepish laugh, a hand coming to the back of his head.

"Yeah, well," he started. "Sorry about that. I get a little passionate about the job. Comes with the territory." Derek's eyes got fractionally wider.

"It's, alright, I suppose." He seemed at a loss for words. "It happens to the best of us." A beat passed, then he changed the subject.

"So, what brings you back so soon? Didn't get enough fun last night?" Owen shifted uncomfortably in place. Only some quick thinking on his part managed to keep him from explaining that he was here to ask the woman of his dreams out on a date.

"Yes. No. I'm here to check on Dr. Yang."

"Dr. Yang?" Derek asked, not comprehending.

"There was an accident last night, I'm sure your wife told you." If anything, that seemed to confuse the neurosurgeon even more.

"My wife?" Owen cursed under his breath.

Since his dreams were focused on Cristina, it was impossible not to know about Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd as well. Unfortunately, Owen was never able to tell what order they happened in. Apparently, the two of them hadn't gotten married yet.

In hindsight, Owen thought that made sense. They had gotten married at the same time as Callie and Arizona. Cristina and Owen were already together by then, so that must come later.

"Oh, sorry, your girlfriend, then? Dr. Grey." The sound of her name lit up a smile on Dr. Shepherd's face.

"Yes, she's my girlfriend," he confirmed. Wanting to take advantage of the situation, Owen pressed forward.

"But you _want_ her to be your wife?"

"I do, she's the one. Just waiting on the right moment, you know? I don't think she's ready yet."

"Timing is everything," Owen agreed. Derek took a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts.

"So, you're here to check on Dr. Yang?" The other man, now more at ease with him, walked into the building, with Owen following at his side.

"Yeah, there was an accident, and I had to stitch her up last night. It wasn't too bad, so I figured she might have come in to work and that I'd be able to just, you know, check in."

"That's awfully nice of you. You do this for all of your patients?" Owen tried to deflect, but Derek wouldn't seem to let it go.

"Well, you know. Dr. Yang is…" The words hung off Owen's tongue, and without anything to follow up, a sly grin formed on Derek's face.

"Ah, I see," he said. "So, this visit is a little less of checking _up_ on her, and more checking _out_."

Owen's always known he had a pale complexion. And from the heat rising in his face and the widening in Derek's smile, the other man knew as well.

"Yeah," he finally admitted.

"Good luck with that, man. You're going to need it," Derek laughed, clapping him on the back as they reached the nurse's station. Thankfully, he didn't need to respond, since the two men saw Meredith strolling up to them.

"Oh, Dr. Hunt!" she greeted. "You're still here? Is your leg okay?"

Thankfully, Derek decided to spare him from having to explain.

"Major Hunt was actually just looking for Dr. Yang," he said. "He wanted to double check that she was doing alright after last night."

"That's sweet of you." Meredith turned back to Owen. "But she's not actually in today."

"What?" Owen's mouth fell open in disbelief. "But she's always at work." He shouldn't know that, but Meredith didn't catch that.

"Yeah, well. Dr. Webber made her agree to staying at home another day. And by made her, I mean, threatened her that she wouldn't see an OR for a month if she didn't go home."

"…Oh."

Of course. Of course she wasn't in today.

"Right, well, that makes sense, I suppose," he admitted. The couple seemed to take pity on him, however, sharing an unreadable look with each other.

"Well, I could give you her address?" Derek blurted suddenly. Owen's head snapped back up to his face. Meredith seemed equally surprised.

"But-" she protested.

"That'd be fantastic!" Owen felt like his cheeks would rip in half from how wide his smile had gotten.

"Derek-"

"A little bit of company couldn't hurt, right, sweetie?" The man turned to his girlfriend. "Cristina's probably clawing at the walls to cut, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"That'd be great, actually!" He felt a little bad for continuing to interrupt Meredith, but for whatever reason, Shepherd decided to help him, and he'd be damned if he let her stop him.

He continued to grin as Derek wrote directions from the hospital to Cristina's apartment, and before Meredith could say any more, he thanked the couple, leaving the hospital only minutes after arriving.

* * *

"What was that about?" Meredith asked. Derek just smiled enigmatically, gently pushing her down the hall.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie. It's none of our business."

"You just gave a stranger Cristina's address, of course it's my business!" she protested.

"You just worry about the craniotomy you're going to help me with today…"

* * *

She couldn't see. The lights were too bright. Her head felt as if it was going to explode. Unable to assess her location, Cristina needed to rely on her other senses.

If the steady beeping of the monitor on her left, and the shuffling and voices slightly further away weren't enough to convince her that she was in a hospital, the smell would have tipped her off.

Hospitals always had such a distinctive smell. Sometimes it was overshadowed by the metallic stench of blood, but it was always there. She never bothered to ask what it was; disinfectant, maybe?

Squinting, she allowed her eyesight to adjust to the fluorescent lights above. At first, she thought that she was at Seattle Grace, but closer inspection proved her otherwise.

There were different bedsheets in her hospital. Her mother is an interior decorator, and she was trained as a surgeon: Cristina was used to looking at the little details. The bedsheets were different, and so were the curtains. She leaned forward a little bit and caught sight of a few doctors passing by; they wore different colored scrubs.

A familiar yip drew her attention to the side. The same yellow dog from the park bounded to her bedside, tail wagging, followed by a tan, black haired man carrying a water bottle.

"You're awake!" he stopped next to her bedside to pull up a chair.

"Who-" she croaked. The man twisted off the cap and handed her the drink, which she took gratefully. "Thank you. Who are you?" he smiled.

"My name's William, but you can call me Will," he said. He stuck his hand out for a second, but put it back down at her confusion. "I'm the one who called the ambulance."

It came to her in a flash: the dog, the car, the memories. She looked down to the puppy, who had lay down on its stomach.

"This little guy actually was the one who showed me that you were in trouble." Will bent down to give the dog a well-deserved pat on the head.

"I was taking him out for a walk when somehow his leash came off. I was looking around for him for a while before he came back and showed me where you were."

"Thank you." Will sat quietly, scratching the puppy behind his ears.

Not knowing what else to say, but not caring for the quiet, Cristina decided to do something she rarely did with anyone besides Meredith: initiate.

"So, the dog is yours?" He stopped petting it to look back at her.

"Kind of. I own his mom, and she just had puppies, I've been trying to give them all out to different homes, but this little guy is the last one." When she let her arm dangle down the side of the bed, the pup stood to give it a tentative lick. "He seems to like you well enough, want to take him off my hands?"

"What's his name?"

"I haven't named him yet. If I do, then I'd probably end up keeping him," Will laughed. "Any suggestions?"

They sat in silence for a minute while Cristina thought. "I don't know, something dignified." She gazed around the room, not sure what she was looking for, until something caught her eye.

"Phillip." Will looked at her in surprise, following her line of sight to the machine in the corner.

"Really? You're going to name him after an echocardiogram?" And then it was her turn to be surprised.

"Yeah, why not? And anyway, what do _you_ know about echocardiograms?" The man beside her smirked.

"I'm a biomedical engineer at the college nearby. Rent's a bit cheaper not so close to the school, though. Mostly I do research in a lab, but I do manage to teach when I can." She had to admit, she was a little impressed. She wouldn't let him know that, though.

"Oh, whatever. If you're going straight into research you're just not hardcore enough to _actually_ work on patients," Cristina said. William didn't seem to mind the dig at his field. In fact, he seemed encouraged.

"Uh, huh. There's that ego that most scientists get about their subject. I didn't see you panic once you woke up either, so you must spend a lot of time in a hospital. Let me guess, surgical resident?" Her glare was more than enough of an answer for him. "Yup, that's got to be it."

"Screw you. When is a _real_ doctor gonna get here?"

"They should be by soon," he supplied. "A doctor came by earlier and let me know that you should be alright. You've got a concussion, and a sprained ankle, but the rest seems pretty superficial."

She listened to this information, but scoffed. He lifted his hands in surrender.

"Fine, just wait for your actual doctor to come in then."

It took another ten minutes before she was seen by the on-call physician. Ten minutes of Cristina and Will having a stare-down. Her brown eyes defiant, his green eyes twinkling. A doctor came in and to her chagrin, said the exact same words to her as Will did.

"Alright, Ms. Yang, it looks like you're doing good. You've got a mild concussion, so try to stay with someone tonight, and your ankle is sprained, but all your cuts and bruises are superficial. A policeman should be by in a bit to collect your statement, and let me get your discharge papers and you should be good to go!" The woman smiled, closing her chart and leaving.

"So, Yang, was it? You got a first name that goes with that?" Cristina smiled, thinking to herself that it was funny, being asked the same thing only a few hours ago.

"It's Cristina."

"Cristina, huh?" His smile widened. "That's a pretty name."

The two made small talk until both the police officer and a nurse came back to take her statement to let her go. It turned out that the person who ran her over was an old man that had fallen asleep at the wheel. Cristina gave her statement, and her, Will, and little Phillip drifted out the door together.

For a moment, she stood outside the hospital doors, realizing that the sun was just starting to go down, and that she didn't have a ride home, until she felt the light touch of someone's hand on her own.

"Hey, my car is this way," her new companion said. "The blue sedan over there."

Maybe it was the head injury, but Cristina didn't say anything about the fact that Will's fingers had laced themselves in between hers, or that he had gently pulled her through the parking lot to his car, opening the door and letting her get in first. They drove onto the road, and the conversation started again.

"Do you have anyone that you're staying with tonight, or am I driving you back to your place?" he asked. She brought her hand up to massage her temple.

"My place, but I have a roommate," she murmured. Now that everything was said and done, Cristina was finally able to notice the headache in the back of her skull.

"Alright."

He kept speaking as the car rolled down the street, but the words didn't register in her mind. All she could think about was how nice it would be to lay down in her bed. It wasn't until the car came to a stop and Will gently shook her thigh that she stopped dozing.

"Let me take you upstairs. Do you have your keys?"

Cristina reached into her pocket, handing him the lanyard. She pat Philip, who had lain in the backseat, on the head once more, listening to him whine, before exiting the car. Will didn't need to support her, or anything, but he stayed only about a foot away from her during the trip up the stairs. She found it oddly comforting.

"It's this one," she said. He turned the keys in the lock and opened the door for her. Callie was at the kitchen counter, eating dinner.

"There you are! I've been trying to reach your cell, where were you?" Callie asked. Her eyes widened when she saw Cristina wasn't alone. "And who are you?"

"I'm Will," the man waved. "Cristina got into a bit of a bind, earlier. I'm just making sure she got home safely."

Cristina, feeling her headache start to get worse, moved to sit on a barstool. Will followed her, dropping her keys on the counter and rubbing her back reassuringly. Callie was stunned, but didn't say a word as Will turned to her again.

"Now that I know she'll be alright, I'm gonna go," he started. "She hasn't eaten anything all day, so you should probably get something in her before she knocks out. Cristina, I'm gonna go, alright?" It was all she could do to whisper a "Thanks," and hold her head in her hands.

His voice grew distant as Cristina heard the two of them talking. She dozed off on the kitchen counter.

* * *

Owen sat on the balcony of his apartment, nursing a beer in his hand. It had been a slightly disappointing day, with him running around back and forth trying to find Cristina, to no avail.

 _He followed Derek's instructions, and to his surprise, found himself standing in front of an apartment complex almost across town. It was a large, grey, urban style building, and it looked nothing like what he thought Cristina would have lived in. Precise angles and low shadows._

 _In his dreams, Cristina had lived in an apartment across the street from the hospital. He remembered an awkward conversation of them speaking in the rain. Maybe she hadn't moved yet?_

 _After ten minutes standing outside, Owen gathered the courage to cross the threshold into the unknown. He went upstairs to the unit that was written down on the paper in his hand._

 _Owen knocked, hoping and dreading her answering the door. He waited a few minutes, knocking again when he was met with silence. Still, no one had come, not even Callie._

 _Ignoring the part of his brain that mentioned how stalker-y it was, Owen knocked once more, this time putting his ear to the door. He didn't hear a whisper. He stopped listening, this time leaning over a bit and trying to see any sort of movement through the peephole._

" _Dammit."_

He took a swig of his drink, watching the sun set in the distance. He only had another day or two, and then he needed to leave again for the desert.

Time was running out; he didn't know how long he would be out there for deployment, and he needed to see her. He needed to touch her. He needed to hear her voice. He needed to know that if he left, she would still be waiting for him when he got back.

A part of Owen worried that he had hallucinated her. That maybe what Travis said was right. His gut told him no. She kissed him back. That wasn't his imagination. But a niggling fear in the corner of his mind persisted, that if he had left, she wouldn't be here.

He finished his drink. Two more days. Even if he didn't find her tomorrow, he would try the next day, and the next. Even if he didn't get to see her when he left, he would try after his tour was done.

Whatever it took, he would find her. He'd make sure of that.


End file.
